With every surge of the tide, with every disquieting rattle of the house, the Lusmans became more wary about the terrifying situation unfolding around them.

Outside their Tomac Lane waterfront home in Old Greenwich, in the swirling darkness, Hurricane Sandy battered the coastline with ferocious wind gusts and a devastating tidal surge that had already begun to overtake a stone wall at the bottom of the lane. Brown, debris-ridden water gushed through a gateway into the dead end street. White caps dotted the cove.

The Lusmans' house is perched atop a small rise. During Tropical Storm Irene last August, their home escaped the most destructive effects of the storm.

The Lusmans wondered if, this time around, they would be so lucky.

To the east, in Stamford, their nanny stood in a high-rise apartment, watching the Greenwich coastline, a black blur amid frothing waves and ominous clouds. She looked in the direction of the Lusmans' home. Then she looked toward the west. Toward Binney Lane. She began to mash frenetic text messages into her cell phone.

Along the Greenwich coastline, a dull orange glow rose toward the sky. News outlets reported that a fire was raging out of control along Binney Lane, spread by the wind and consuming houses as it went.

For the Lusman family members -- Sarah, her husband Joel, and David, only 17 months old -- the orange glow was too close. Far too close.

"We could tell the fire was spreading," Sarah said Tuesday.

The text messages coming in from their nanny confirmed their fears.

"We looked again at 8, 8:15 and it looked bigger," she said. "That was when we had to go."

The Lusmans evacuated.

Sandy didn't make it easy for them.

Only feet below their front steps, their driveway sloped downward, into a thrashing pool of water. Joel waded through the water twice, bringing some necessities to their car, parked atop a rise in Tomac Lane. When he returned a third time to leave the house for good with his family, the water had risen to waist level.

"My jeans were wet up to here," Sarah said, pointing to her waistband.

Joel grabbed David to keep him dry and they made their way through the flood, through the wind, to the car.

Seven-tenths of a mile away, on Forest Avenue, there is an office building, safe from Sandy's wrath.

Seven-tenths of a mile.

"It was terrifying," Joel said of the drive. "We kept having to back track because there were downed trees"I had to zig and zag my way through."

It was the longest seven-tenths of a mile of the Lusmans' lives.

"That was terrifying," Joel said.

But they made it to Forest Avenue, and they made it safely. Behind them, Sandy's surge rushed up the steps of their front porch. Water flooded the basement.

The tide level was "a good foot-and-a-half, two feet higher" than during Irene, Joel said.

Once at the office building, they found shelter inside.

"We were really nervous, and I think [David] sensed it," Joel said. "We set up his portable crib, and he fell asleep."

Tuesday morning, David was smiling happily inside the Lusman's garage. A line of reeds and debris two-thirds of the way up the driveway marked the peak of the storm surge. Repair crews had already arrived. The bottom of Tomac Lane was once again beginning to fill with Tuesday' afternoon's surge, but it paled in comparison to the flood of the night before.

"My landscaping is wrecked," Joel said, standing in yellow boots and a sweatshirt and staring across his yard, where bushes and plants were flattened and debris was scattered across grass.

Eight inches of water flooded the basement, and some of the wood on the first floor suffered water damage, Joel said.

But the Lusmans -- all standing in their garage a few feet above where Sandy left her mark -- said they will replace their property.

Their health, their lives -- what's most important -- those things are all OK.

And they will move forward. Like thousands of other Greenwich residents.

Together, Sarah and Joel looked at David Tuesday afternoon, who was still smiling, still giggling, as if nothing had happened.